Harriet was not sympathetic to his complaint. He was taken aback by her astringency and felt it might be futile to joke with her, but tried. "Smoking is such a little sin compared to most, and people everywhere have to sin in some way."
"There's nothing little about it. My uncle died of lung cancer. It's a hideous death."
Her cleanliness was sterling but unerotic, as cleanliness was to his Gallic nature. Still she was attractive in the manner of American women, which he found dazzling though daunting. He was curious that their intellect often accompanied such physical health. He stamped out his cigarette with a gallant flourish. "I see you here often. What are you studying?"
"I'm doing a doctoral thesis," she said evasively.
Her answer did not surprise him. American women were throwing
